


At Least I Still Have My Head!

by iqom, UnparalleledAngel



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Aging, Angst, Dementia, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mettaton ignoring problems as per usual, Post-Undertale Pacifist Route, elderly Papyrus, papyton
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-05-19 23:08:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14882967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iqom/pseuds/iqom, https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnparalleledAngel/pseuds/UnparalleledAngel
Summary: A little over a hundred years have passed since the liberation of the Underground. People and monsters age, and time waits for no one...Except Mettaton. He remains as spry and youthful as the day he was created.His husband, Papyrus, does not.





	1. Chapter by iqom

Oh, to be young again!

As Mettaton lay asleep, charging, he dreamed of the days when monsters were fresh out of the Underground. At the time, android entertainers had yet to be invented, so Mettaton was truly a novelty; the robot with a SOUL, acting, singing, dancing, cooking, modeling, an androgynous firecracker with a perfect face and a dry wit, hitting Los Angeles, New York, London, Paris, Milan and Tokyo with the most bedazzling smile and smoothest moves the world had ever witnessed!

He dreamed of Papyrus.

He dreamed of the day they met, while Mettaton was back briefly from tour and attending a small get-together hosted by Alphys and Undyne. Papyrus had acted goofy and overconfident around him; even though he tripped over his words and very nearly his feet once or twice, Mettaton knew from the moment the skeleton remarked (after a few cosmos too many) that he was “the sexiest rectangle” he had ever seen and that he “dreamed of a white-gloved hand” gracing his own “ah, hand with a white glove on it” that Papyrus had stolen his heart… and his white-gloved hand.

He dreamed of them seeing every glamorous corner of the Surface together all over again. He took Papyrus to Harry’s Bar in Venice and insisted he get a Bellini ( _Brangelina come here and drink these, that’s why!_ ), and even shelled out for a ride in a gondola; he accompanied Papyrus begrudgingly to Tokyo’s Robot Restaurant and was thoroughly disappointed that he was not the center of attention in such an establishment; his pink Balenciaga sunhat blew off of his head in a particularly violent gust of wind mid-photo in front of the Eiffel Tower and Papyrus dove into the Seine after it, camera and all.

He dreamed of hot, ferocious nights in king-sized hotel beds, jacuzzi bathtubs, the backs of limousines. They had the raging libidos of youth with nearly inexhaustible money and resources, the Surface was at their disposal and _god,_ were they in love--

 

Mettaton woke up every morning to the sound of Papyrus’ deep, rattling snores. The elderly skeleton had a difficult time breathing after a traumatizing experience where his ribs snapped under the pressure of a tight hug from Mettaton; he had screamed into Mettaton’s shoulder and the robot stumbled back in terror, pieces of Papyrus’ bones crumbling down his front.

Papyrus had been diagnosed a while back with a severe form of osteoporosis-- a rather common ailment for skeleton monsters in their early hundreds, Mettaton learned-- and had an operation to receive plaster casts for the damaged ribs. Bits of bone had been lodged irreversibly in Papyrus’ soul, however, affecting his ability to breathe and walk properly.

Mettaton never hugged Papyrus again.

He began showing affection by taking his frail hand and squeezing it every morning when he awoke, rousing Papyrus from his slumber, and Papyrus’ skull always turned towards him on the pillow, grinning feebly and squeezing back before falling asleep once again.

Mettaton, being a robot with the soul of a ghost, didn’t age a day. His body stayed as limber and beautiful as it was when Alphys first transplanted his soul into it.

Papyrus, unfortunately, was not so lucky. His spine began collapsing on itself at around eighty years of age, keeping the skeleton permanently hunched over. His confident, high-pitched shouting deteriorated into a creaky hum of a voice that sometimes even Mettaton couldn’t understand without leaning in close to the skeleton’s mouth.

 _The magic between the bones is deteriorating,_ a monster specialist had concluded after intensive examination. Mettaton had cried about it in the car, sobbing desperately into his broad palms while Papyrus comforted him, rubbed his back; but the skeleton remained chipper as ever. _I may be getting a little old, but at least I still have my head!_

Mettaton retired from show business to become Papyrus’ full-time caretaker. This was nearly twelve years ago. And although Papyrus’ physical state declined quickly-- what with his breathing and brittle bones-- he had been correct in saying that his mind was still sharp as ever.

Until it wasn't.

 

* * *

 

Mettaton sank down into the living room’s red chenille couch and switched on the television. Early afternoon sunlight streamed cheerfully through the windows; Papyrus still wasn't awake, which was not a surprise to Mettaton. Papyrus slept long hours, so Mettaton occupied himself with mindless entertainment until he heard the advancing _tap-tap_ of Papyrus’s wooden cane on the floorboards.

The current program was Project ALICIA; hosted by possibly the most widely known celebrity android of 21XX. ALICIA had very humbly hosted Mettaton on her show many times in the past, thanking him for being an inspiration in her life from newly-constructed artificial intelligence all the way through her illustrious career; but Mettaton was no longer a hot topic and everyone knew it, even back then. ALICIA and Mettaton differed in many ways; for one, she lacked a soul and operated entirely by computer, therefore making her incapable of disagreeing with her human support team (very much unlike Mettaton; he was infamous for his “creative differences” with human and monster agents alike).

ALICIA was very young; a sprightly sixteen years of existence compared to Mettaton’s one hundred and ten.

Mettaton lost interest in the program at this juncture and instead found himself staring past the television at the flecks of dust near the window illuminated by the afternoon sun, dancing in the stagnant air as if they were in a spotlight. ALICIA’s voice-- dulcet and sweet, while remaining rather monotone-- faded into the background…

“I seem to have lost my wedding ring.”

Papyrus’ croak of a voice beside Mettaton brought him back to the present at once. He hadn’t even heard his husband’s slow approach from the bed to the living room. He was only half-dressed; he had put on his pants and a pullover sweater, but his belt hung down unbuckled and the waist of the pants sat dangerously low, threatening to slide off of his scrawny frame at any moment.

“Oh! Where did you last see it?”

Papyrus looked distressed, his browbone furrowed considerably. “On the bedside table… last, last night--” He wrung his tiny, frail hands together, his voice quavering and panicked.

“Okay, baby, okay,” Mettaton stood and gently took Papyrus’ arm, guiding him to a seated position on the couch. “We’ll find it. It has to be around here somewhere--”

He glanced down at Papyrus’ hand and found the silver ring.  

“Oh, sweetie… it’s on your hand!” Mettaton chuckled. Papyrus stared at his hand, dumbfounded, and Mettaton’s mirth disappeared at once. _He really doesn’t… remember…?_

“I… I put it on… this morning?”

Mettaton took a small, terse breath; the confusion in his husband’s voice disturbed him to the core. Well, Papyrus _had_ just woken up, he probably was still foggy from sleeping. He’d gone to bed terribly late the night before, they’d stayed up past Papyrus’ normal bedtime to watch reruns of _The Mettaton Show_ that aired Thursday nights on the Oldies channel. He remembered the answer to every quiz question; in fact, he could answer them more swiftly than Mettaton himself could many a time! That was the Papyrus Mettaton knew; sharp as a tack, with an unbelievable memory for factoids and puzzle solutions.

But even the smartest of monsters get tired sometimes, and grow forgetful about things. Surely.

That had to be it.

Mettaton settled back down on the couch next to Papyrus and pulled his skull towards him, letting the old skeleton rest his heavy head on his shoulder. “It’s okay… it’s okay.”

_It’s okay. It’s okay._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Papyrus and Mettaton go on a little trip to visit their friends, though it isn't under the circumstances they'd wish for.

It was beginning to rain.

The windscreen wipers swept past, whisking the little droplets away as quickly as they came. They received a sharp look from Mettaton, who regarded them with quiet distaste.

“The rain always seems to start when we go somewhere,” he said, mostly to himself. With a quick glance, he looked to the skeleton by his side, more silent than he’d ever been in his old age. He was staring out of the passenger side window, watching the small drops catch the glass and run down the side like they were in a hurry to get somewhere.

“I don’t mind it so much.”

“That’s because you don’t have hair, darling.”

They wound down a well-beaten road, laden with tall trees that blocked out the sun, had there been any on that day. The view was monotonous. A repetition of the same trees over and over until time pushed forward and brought a new sight before them. A large expanse of land, green from regular upkeep yet no less sullen to anyone who looked upon it. 

The monster scattering grounds.

Not unlike human cemeteries, this was the place monsters visited to remember their deceased loved ones, each having their own little plot of land where their dust is scattered. As all monsters know, an essence of them stays behind after death, wherever their dust is laid to rest, and so, in places such as scattering grounds, it helps the living feel like they are by their side once again.

Mettaton and Papyrus were monthly visitors. 

* * *

“Do you need help getting out of your seat, Pappy?”

“No no, I’m fine.” Papyrus waved away Mettaton’s helping hands, pushing himself out of the car seat with a grunt. “I still have my legs!”

Mettaton rolled his eyes as he locked up the car behind them. He pushed Papyrus’ wheelchair towards him and encouraged him to sit down again. He always worried about Papyrus over-exerting himself. He was an old man now, not the energetic young skeleton Mettaton first new! His footsteps had grown slow and labored and it never took too long before he had to rest.

He sat down in the wheelchair and let Mettaton take the handles to push him. It was never any bother to Mettaton, Papyrus was so light it felt like pushing an empty chair, his frailty more apparent than ever. And plus, Mettaton would do anything for him. He’d just as happily carry him around in his arms, taking him from place to place like it was nothing to him; although his brittle bones didn’t permit being hefted to and fro, and so pushing him in a wheelchair was the least he could do.

They passed through the large iron gates into the scattering grounds, solemn and wordless. The path underfoot was growing sludgy from the light rain, making Mettaton’s heels sink as he walked. He already knew his course, they visited so often now that his footsteps were like second nature. 

He took Papyrus to his brother’s plot. 

“Would you like some time alone?”

“Please.”

Mettaton nodded, gave Papyrus a very gentle squeeze on the shoulder and left to stand by Alphys and Undyne’s sections on the other side of the grounds. Each little section had things people had left to remember their loved ones; many had picture frames, planted flowers, letters telling them about how much they’d meant to them, all things they wished they’d have known before they’d left.

Papyrus sat there at Sans’ plot of land silently for a moment, eyes closed, feeling his brother’s presence radiating close by. He wasn’t sure whether he could actually feel it, or whether he was just making it up to make himself feel better, but it did the trick regardless. 

Upon opening his eyes, he saw a wrapper of some sort had drifted in between a bunch of blue pansies Papyrus had planted there. 

A small croaking chuckle bubbled in his throat. “Even now you’re making a mess,” he said, and, with a push, he heaved himself up into a standing position and bent (with more effort than he’d let on) to pick up the wrapper. “Cleaning up after you like always,” he muttered as he sat back down again, stuffing the wrapper into his shirt pocket for the time being. “It feels like just yesterday you’d be here, making terrible puns and I’d be--” The sentence caught in his throat and he shook his head, not letting himself get caught up in emotion. “I’d be shouting at you, to look after yourself more, to... not leave your wet towels on the floor or to put the milk back in the fridge after you use it.” Papyrus sighed, knowing too well that he’d give anything to see those towels on the floor once again if it meant his brother was with him. “I should go find my husband now... He worries when I’m away from him for too long and I can’t upset him!” Papyrus wrapped before he could get any more sentimental. “I’ll be back to visit you soon.” And, with a short titter, he added, “Don’t think you’ve gotten rid of my nagging that easily!”

He wheeled himself through the scattering grounds, looking curiously at the other plots as he went. His pity went out to those that had nothing decorating them, a barren land with no memory attached, just a plaque with a name. But the saddest of all were the ones that were adorned with toys and stuffed animals. Papyrus looked away when he saw those.

“You’ve been crying, Mettaton.”

Mettaton looked him up and down and then shook his head, smiling for his sake. “It’s just the rain, don’t worry.” Though the rain had petered off significantly since they arrived, and the only drops of water were upon Mettaton’s cheeks. 

Papyrus let it slide, pretending not to see when Mettaton brushed them away.

“The flowers look beautiful at this time of year,” Mettaton commented in an attempt to change the subject. “The way Alphys and Undyne’s intertwine like that... it was a nice idea, Pappy.”

Papyrus nodded and then frowned.

“What is it, darling?”

“Undyne would probably want something cooler.”

“’Cooler’?” Mettaton repeated, raising an eyebrow. 

“Like... a sword. Or something set on fire. A big fiery pit of doom and despair.”

Mettaton laughed, the sound of it taking himself by surprise. “I’m not sure that’s within the guidelines.”

“Exactly! Undyne would approve of the rule-breaking.”

Memories of Undyne’s arsonist tendencies flashed before Mettaton’s eyes, half-surprised that isn’t how she went out. All in all, the group led quite healthy lives and, quite frankly, boring deaths. Old age claimed them all one by one, scaring the never-ageing robot out of his wits. They all seemed as immortal as he was in their youth, and then their visible ageing was treated as nothing but a joke. Until there was nothing left to laugh about.

Undyne was the last to go, her healthy lifestyle kept her rolling on until her body couldn’t take it anymore, and she faded to dust in her own bed, fighting death until her very last breath. 

And then there was the two of them, together forever. Papyrus and Mettaton against the world. Of course, Napstablook was still around, and by Mettaton’s side for as long as he needed them, but they were never very good at providing comfort and, as of late, that’s exactly what Mettaton needed the most.

“Should we get going then, Pappy-darling?” Mettaton asked after a while, wanting nothing more than to settle down on the sofa whilst he let his husband nap. Before he could start wheeling Papyrus back to the car, however, he spotted something shiny in his shirt pocket. He pulled it out. A chocolate wrapper. “What’s this?”

Papyrus looked at it, his eyes narrowed. “I-I, ah-” He shook his head at it. “I don’t know... How did that get there?” Papyrus brought a frail hand up to his forehead and rubbed it, as if trying to make some sense out of what he was seeing. “It must have been... Did I pick it up? Why would I pick it up?”

Mettaton’s eyes widened, scrunching the wrapper up in his hand. “Don’t get yourself worked up over it, darling. We’ll just throw it in a trash can if we see one.” He took his wheelchair by the handles and began pushing once more. “It probably just slipped your mind. Happens to everyone. Everyone forgets things every now and then.”

“I just don’t understand how it got there-”

“Don’t worry about that, Pappy, it’s nothing,” Mettaton said as he made his way back through the mud-tracked ground. “Don’t worry about a thing.”


End file.
